


the ultimate meet ugly

by gaywardguide



Series: quirrellmort ficlets [1]
Category: A Very Potter Musical Series - Team StarKid
Genre: M/M, and how i imagine him and voldemort met, basically a summary of quirrell's past, quirrell is evil and i love him, quirrell is gay af, that hopefully provides some insight into why he wants to take over the world, voldemort is a fucking mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-12-20 10:58:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11919483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywardguide/pseuds/gaywardguide
Summary: the cloaked figure slowly raised their head from the neck of the slain creature, and made eye contact with the mortified quirrell. their upper face was cloaked in shadows, but the bottom half was an inhuman shade of white, with a silver iridescent stain on what appeared to be their mouth.quirrell stared at the creature in horror, and the creature just… stared.then, the cloaked figure grinned wickedly, revealing silver-stained teeth. “hey,you.”





	the ultimate meet ugly

Quirinus Quirrell had been underestimated his whole life, and he was sick of it.

It began when he was a young boy, when his mother refused to allow him to attend a muggle elementary school like all the other wizard kids. She insisted it was because he just didn’t need it, that she had planned on becoming a teacher at some point and what was the point of sending him off to some strange muggle building when she could do the job just fine herself. She said that he might slip up and accidentally turn some muggle kid’s hair blue or something, and then the ministry would be knocking on their door and they’d take him away from her and what would she do without her little Quirinus. She told him, often through exaggerated tears, that watching her son leave every day for school would simply be too much to bear after her own husband abandoned her, walked out the door and never came back, and how was she to know that her five-year-old son wouldn’t do the same. She made up lots of excuses over the years, but Quirrell always kind of knew the truth.

Unfortunately, there was nothing Quirrell’s mother could do to stop him from attending Hogwarts.

Also quite unfortunate was how Hogwarts was where it all got worse. Much, much worse.

Quirrell was been sorted into Ravenclaw, not to his surprise- he was a curious and conflict-adverse child who always loved learning, and was deeply fascinated by the possibilities and what-ifs in life. And, of course, he was more than aware of his smarts.

Much to Quirrell’s dismay, the years of not interacting with anybody but his neurotic mother (and occasionally the postman) had a terrible effect on the already naturally nervous boy- he was an anxious wreck. For his first three years at the school he developed a terrible stutter that he was often mocked for. He was timid and shy and horribly clumsy, and a bit odd-looking (what with his big ears and oddly-shaped nose).

All in all, even Quirrell’s big brains couldn’t save himself from being mocked at Hogwarts, even by his fellow Ravenclaws.

And it wasn’t just the Ravenclaws; surprisingly, it was actually the Gryffindors that were his worst bullies. Over the years Quirrell came to despise the house for the arrogance and immaturity and blind ignorance the members often displayed- not to mention the blatant favoritism shown to them by the teachers and Dumbledore. Of course, the Slytherins weren’t all too nice either, but they had the sense not to waste their time picking on scrawny little stuttering bookworms when they could be doing literally anything else of importance.

What made things worse, Quirrell would look back as an adult and think, was that damn scarf.

Really, what on earth was the point of the stupid thing? Unless you got heterosexual or metrosexual or waiting-til-marriage or whatnot, you were going to get made fun of. Well, maybe you could get away with bi-curious if you laughed it off enough, maybe. But that was it- unless you had all the charisma and popularity in the world, you were screwed.

It also didn’t help that, having grown up separated from the world and raised by such an overprotective mother, Quirrell literally had no idea what these things meant. He didn’t even know you could be gay or bisexual. He supposed his mother had never outright told him that you couldn’t be those things, that it was Wrong, but she’d never told him about them either. Maybe she just reckoned he could figure it out by himself somehow?

Either way, he sure didn’t. So, when Quirrell got sorted as “gay as all hell”, along with about ten other students in his grade, he was understandably confused.

The teasing wasn’t too bad for the first two years, there was some snickering, sure, but his bullies didn’t seem to really realize what being gay meant. Then they became teenagers, and all hell broke loose.

All of a sudden, Quirrell was a pervert and a pansy. Quirrell couldn’t be trusted not to peek at you in the locker room. Suddenly everything Quirrell did, everything that was him, was Gay with a capital G- his love for flowers and dumb romance novels, how he wasn’t the best at sports because his gangly limbs sometimes got the better of him, how he put the slightest of thought into what he wore instead of just throwing on a pair of sweaty robes like the other boys. Quirrell wasn’t Quirrell, but Queerinus.

Eventually, Quirrell became sort of numb to the bullying about that particular topic. He didn’t repress his sexuality, per say, he just learned not to talk about it, unless it was with one of the ten other gay kids in his grade, who didn’t really want to associate with him- likely due to fear that his unpopularity would rub off on him. When he got his first crush on a metrosexual Ravenclaw boy, older by a year or too, with longish dark hair and high cheekbones and a wicked grin that made Quirrell’s stomach flutter, he refused to acknowledge it, and soon enough- sometime after accidentally walking in on him and a Hufflepuff girl making out in the greenhouse- it went away.

Then, as he grew older, Quirrell became able to ignore the rest of the bullying, too. When he wasn’t in class he was in the greenhouse, sipping a cup of tea and reading a Jane Austen novel peacefully. Herbology actually became one of his favorite classes- he found it rather relaxing. He didn’t talk to many people, aside from a nice Slytherin girl, Andromeda Black, who would often strike up a friendly conversation with him in the halls or whatnot before being dragged away by her sisters. People, Quirrell discovered, were actually quite horrible. He didn't like them very much. And so, Quirrell resolved that he would simply focus on his grades, and once he graduated he would show them. He would show _everybody_.

Well, that didn’t _quite_ work out as planned. After graduating and moving out of his mother’s cottage and into a cozy flat in Hogsmeade, Quirrell was rather at a lost for what to do, and, to be frank, he was a bit depressed. He had underestimated how much structure school had provided to his life, and now without a clear schedule every day, he was… bored. Not to mention that now that he lived alone and was left with himself and his thoughts every day, his anxiety had increased tenfold. So, he hid out in his flat for three weeks, drinking probably a lot more wine that he should’ve been, and losing himself in shitty romance novels. After a while he realised that he had to start working again (the last time he’d had a job he’d still been going to Hogwarts) or else he wouldn’t be able to pay the bills and would have to move back in with his mother, a prospect that absolutely horrified him. So, he got a job at a book shop in Hogsmeade called Tomes and Scrolls. Slowly Quirrell began to revert back to normal- he still struggled with anxiety and still felt as if something was missing from his life, but he persevered. He bought as many houseplants and flowers he could fit into his flat, and on nights where he was tempted to get drunk in his living room he’d convince himself to get drunk in the pub, so he could at least say he kind of socialised. He even wrote a couple scientific essays that ended up winning quite a few awards, and he began to garner a reputation in the intellectual magic community. Things began to be okay, and Quirrell led a peaceful, quiet life with his flowers and tea and Jane Austen novels, free from bullies and emotionally-manipulative mothers.

And then, Quirrell got laid off.

His boss made plenty of good excuses, he was sure. Well, he actually wasn’t sure, because for the whole two minutes he was in his office he just heard this odd ringing noise in his ears.

Quirrell had never  _failed_ before.

How could he have been laid off? He was the most hardworking employee at the damn store! And the smartest, not that anyone seemed to give a damn about intelligence anymore these days. 

After he was dismissed, Quirrell didn’t even bother walking home. He walked down the street, head hung. His hands felt numb.

It was a stupid thing to be upset about, really, he knew, but somehow that knowledge didn’t make him feel any better.

Whenever Quirrell got anxiety attacks in public and wasn’t able to go home, he often took walks by himself to clear his head, or at least to find an alley where he could deal with it discreetly. And so Quirrell walked.

It was a refreshingly cool summer’s night; the air was crisp and not humid, and there was a fresh, mild breeze twisting through the treetops and ruffling Quirrell’s hair. Despite it being summer in Hogsmeade, however, there was still snow, piled on the side of the streets and on rooftops and front lawns; lacking was just the biting cold that accompanied it. The golden lights of the village began to light up as the sky, a watercolour painting of brilliant blue and flashes of orange on the edges, steadily grew darker by the minute.

Quirrell walked and walked, lost in his thoughts, before he felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Everything seemed to go quiet- even the crickets fell silent. Slowly, Quirrell looked up.

He was standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

Quirrell gulped. The forest radiated a strange sort of energy- not bad, per say, but not good. Like it had the potential for both.

But it did seem dangerous. Very dangerous. Dangerous and reckless and wild and, he knew, nothing he was prepared for.

Years later, Quirrell would look back on this moment and wonder what exactly it was that lead him to do what he did next. Perhaps his job had been the only thing that mattered to him, and now that he didn’t even have that he didn’t particularly care what happened to him. Perhaps the forest had been calling out to him, the lonely, unloved outcast, radiating danger and opportunity, an opportunity to fucking do something for once in his life, to prove that he could handle it.

Perhaps Quirrell just wanted to die.

Either way, Quirrell took a deep breath. _First years have gone in here and lived,_ he reminded himself, as if he cared that his failure of a self survived, before stepping forward.

The moment he stepped foot into the Forbidden Forest, a small part of Quirrell knew he had made a mistake. A voice in the back of his head began begging him to turn back. Quirrell ignored it as he gazed around in wonder.

He’d only heard tales of what the Forbidden Forest looked like- of course, a model student such as himself had never landed detention and had to witness it himself. But none of the rumours had prepared him for this.

The first observation Quirrell had was that everything was huge. The trees were bigger than he could have ever imagined, and looked as though they were twice as old as the school. He tilted his head back and squinted up at the sky, but still could not see the tops of the trees. They seemed to go on forever.

And it wasn’t just the trees; there were huge boulders just lying around everywhere, and dandelions and weeds that were almost as tall as some of the smallest trees Quirrell had seen. A couple of leaves were scattered on the ground, and Quirrell reckoned that most of them were bigger than his face.

The second thing Quirrell noticed was how much darker it was. Outside of the forest the sky was illuminated by the sunset, a mixture of blue and orange; here, while it didn’t look to be night time, there was no flashes of orange or even any hint of the sunset as there had been a few feet behind him. The treetops above likely had leaves so thick and big they completely shaded the forest from the sun; only allowing light to filter through so things were still fully visible.

Quirrell then had a strange sort of feeling overcome him- as if he were being watched. He gulped as his eyes quickly swept around him. Nothing.

Still, that didn’t ease his conscience. Quirrell wasn’t an idiot (or at least not a complete idiot- he _was_ the one who decided to walk into the _Forbidden Forest_ , after all). And so, before taking his first step forward, he made sure his wand was still in his sleeve, and braced himself.

Quirrell meandered along for a couple minutes, cautiously alert, head twisting around at the slightest noise. Occasionally he’d hear a howling in the distance, or an odd multi-legged shuffling noise, but never anything close enough to worry. At one point he heard a light, slow clopping, almost like a horse, about five or ten feet away from him, but when he looked he didn’t see anything there.

 _So far, so good,_ he thought to himself.

Quirrell continued to walk through the forest, stumbling a bit on the bumpy, uneven ground. Soon, he began to grow- well, not _relaxed_ , this was the Forbidden Forest after all, but- somewhat accustomed to his surroundings. It wasn’t _that_ bad.

Suddenly, something caught his eye, by a boulder. Quirrell squinted, and his face brightened as he noticed it was a black flower. Hesitantly he approached it, before checking his surroundings quickly, then squatting down.

 _Fascinating,_ he thought, as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the petal, which was surprisingly cold to the touch. Quirrell stood up, only to notice that there was another flower- further ahead. Frowning in curiousity, he walked towards that one, only to notice another one, farther, to his left. He went over to that flower, and, head down and eyes focused on the ground, he followed the odd trail of flowers dotting the forest floor. Eventually he came to a flower that was far bigger than the rest- nearly as big as his fist. Quirrel bent down in front of it, eyes focused on the unusual plant. 

“Remarkable,” He murmured softly under his breath, gazing at the flower in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like _you_ before. You're so pretty- a _truly_ black flower, I’ve never seen that before. Maybe a platycodon variant..? Or-” Quirrell paused as he heard a strange slurping noise. The back of his neck tingled and slowly he looked up from the flower and came face to face with a black-cloaked figure in the middle of a clearing, mouth over a fallen unicorn’s jugular and facing Quirrell.

Quirrell’s heart stopped. _Oh. My. Wizard. God._

The cloaked figure slowly raised their head from the neck of the slain creature, and made eye contact with the mortified Quirrell. Their upper face was cloaked in shadows, but the bottom half was an inhuman shade of white, with a silver iridescent stain on what appeared to be their mouth.

Quirrell stared at the creature in horror, and the creature just… stared.

Then, the cloaked figure grinned wickedly, revealing silver-stained teeth. “Hey, _you_."

Quirrell let out the most girlish scream he’d ever elicited in his life. He didn’t even have the heart to be embarrassed as, with a surprising speed he never knew he possessed, he stood up and just fuckin’ booked it.

 _WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK,_ he chanted in his head as he ran. _What in the hell was that thing? WHY was it drinking unicorn blood? Oh Wizard God why did I come here I'm such an idiot I didn't wanna die this way oh no oh no oh no-_

“Hey, wait!” He heard the creature holler from somewhere behind him in it’s hoarse voice. “ _Fuck_ \- don’t leave! Get back here, you fucking wimp! _Gah_!”

Quirrell decidedly ignored the creature, and sped up. He hopped over a small boulder with uncharacteristic agility, and dodged around tree trunks without even thinking.

“No! I CO- _hah_ -MMAND you to-to get back… _get_ back here- _hah_... FUCK!" The voice, dangerously angry as it was, was rather out of breath. Quirrell didn't dare celebrate, though- he knew he was far from out of danger.

 _Alright, Quirrell, think,_ he thought to himself. _How do I get ou- SHIT!_ Quirrell's thoughts were interrupted as his foot was snagged by a gnarled tree root.

As he flew through the air, time seemed to slow down as Quirrell's mind went a million miles per hour. _No no no,_ Quirrell thought frantically, yet was unable to move his body as he was flung forward. He landed face-down on the ground, limbs sprawled out and body aching. He moaned in pain, squinting as tears involuntarily welled up in his eyes. He tried to get up, but found his limbs were far too weak. The brown-haired man instead turned around so the front of his body wasn't facing the ground, and sat up, propping himself up with his arms. Blinking dirt and tears away from his eyes, he opened them only to see that the cloaked figure was now standing right in front of him- and in front of Quirrell's wand, which must have had flown out of his sleeve in mid-air.

Quirrell couldn’t really see their full expression, but he guessed it was as maliciously mirthful as their mouth, which was snickering very loudly. He scowled, disgruntled despite the sheer terror that was now paralysing his limbs. “Oh, sh-shut up.” 

The cloaked figure seemed to take amusement into Quirrell's reaction. “Hah! You’ve got guts, boy.” He laughed wickedly, before stopping and smiling dangerously at him. “Or maybe you’re just foolish.” He stepped closer- or for all Quirrell knew he could’ve been hovering, the plain black robe he was wearing completely covered his body, even his feet.

Quirrell’s heartbeat quickened as the cloaked figure opened his mouth to speak. He shivered in anticipation.

“So, what brings you here to my neck of the woods?”

Quirrell blinked. Was this guy serious? His scowl deepened as he remained silent.

The cloaked figure sighed. “Oh, come on. You’re no fun.”

“W-what do you want?” Quirrell persisted, trying to stall for time as he tried to come up with a plan. He attempted to stop hyperventilating, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to slow his breathing, and dug his shaking hands into the dirt.

“World domination. Death to all muggles and mudbloods. You know.” The cloaked figure said, before cocking their head. “But what about _you_?”

Quirrell blinked. “M-me?”

“Uh, yeah, that's what I said," They said in a 'duh' sort of tone.

Later on, Quirrell would recall a million witty, snarky responses he could've come up with. But in that moment, Quirrell was thinking of only one thing.

_Nobody's ever asked me what I wanted before._

Quirrell chewed his lip, before looking down. "I..." He said hesitantly, before blurting out, "I want the world to notice me!" He winced, before continuing guiltily. "I-I don't want to be a nobody anymore. I want people to sit up and notice me, and I... I want them to regret what they've done to me."

The cloaked figure didn't skip a beat before nodding and responding with ease. “Alright." They said thoughtfully. "Well, I'll cut you a deal. You can have all that and more... for just one little thing in return."

Quirrell's brow furrowed. He doubted this person could really help him- it was probably just a trick- but...

Well, it couldn't hurt to find out more.

"And what's that?"

“Let me attach myself to your soul.”

Quirrell’s eyes widened. “W- _WHAT_?” He asked, voice strangulated. His breathing quickened once again, and he began to wheeze in between words as he spoke frenetically. “N-no, that’s _crazy_ , that would- I could- there's like a _million_ reasons that wouldn't- _why_?" 

The cloaked figure laughed bitterly. “ _Why_? Look at me!”

Quirrell blinked, glancing pointedly at the cloak and hood that concealed most of figure’s features. The cloaked figure sighed. “Okay, well, underneath all of this I’m… I’m not human. I don’t really know what I am at this point. I’m a… shell of what I once was. I’m like a ghost, only a real fucking shitty ghost because I still have to eat and shit, and I can't really float. And also kind of a zombie, because I look like a literal corpse and it's disgusting. Attaching myself to your soul would be the first step to getting my body back, and once that happens I'll be unstoppable.”

Quirrell took a deep breath. By all accounts this should sound absolutely crazy to him. This guy was obviously evil- he was talking about killing muggleborns and ruling the world and all that nonsense. Quirrell spent his weekends sipping tea by the fireplace and reading Jane Austen novels. This should all sound absolutely ludicrous to him.

But for some reason... Quirrell was intrigued.

"What happens after you get your body back?" He ventured.

"Then, you and I take over the world- you have half and I have half. Simple."

"Uh, no, _not_  'simple'," Quirrell countered, and would've sounded a lot more impressive if he still wasn't quivering in the dirt. A small, sensible part of him couldn't believe he was actually... considering this. "H-how are we going to take over the world, pray tell? What's your plan exactly?"

The cloaked figure made a sound of annoyance in the back of their throat. "Look, don't worry about the details. Leave all that shit to me. Are you in or not?" They revealed a hand from beneath his shapeless black robes- it was pale and dirty and bone-thin, a bit transparent, and seemed to shimmer like pavement on a hot summer's day.

Quirrell paused, and considered the stranger's proposition- he still couldn't believe he was actually thinking about it. This was a ridiculous thing to consider by all accounts-

But then Quirrell thought back to his childhood. He thought of his mother and how she manipulated and guilt-tripped him so much he was still having issues with that kind of stuff today. He thought of the kids at Hogwarts, of the arrogant Gryffindor brats who were jealous of his brains, at his fellow Ravenclaws who did absolutely nothing to help him, and even joined in from time to time. He thought of all the people who ruined his goddamn life because they couldn't handle people who were different, who were smarter than them.

This guy wanted to rule the world- whatever that entailed. Muggleborns would probably die. Probably some half-bloods, too.

 _Well,_ Quirrell thought. _What has the world ever done for me?_

Slowly, he stood up, then shakily shook the cloaked figure's hand. It was oddly cold, and it felt as if Quirrell could go through it if he pushed hard enough. "I'm in." He said, looking into the shadows that occupied the stranger's face and hopefully into their eyes.

As he pulled his hand back and wiped the dirt off onto his pants, the cloaked figure grinned. "Wow, that was easier than I thought. Not a lot of sissies like you would normally agree to do business with _The_ Dark Lord. Oh, we should probably do names. You can call me Lord Voldemort, you've _probably_ heard of me. And you are?"

Quirrell fainted.


End file.
